SATURDAY SURVIVOR CHRONICLES: Fellas, Beware of Ladies Who Carry Hot Sauce in Their Purses! - The DV Walking Wounded:
I’m a yankee born girl, raised in the South, so I constantly call myself a “Southern Fried Yankee” all of the time. I’m Yankee blunt, but will call you “sir” or “ma’am” when I answer you. Best of both worlds. However, be warned: I do carry a tiny hot sauce bottle in my purse. Still.
I went through over twenty three years of domestic abuse at the hands of my then-husband. I met him in Tennessee, where I grew up, and I guess I was enamored by his wit and Southern charm. I fell in love also with hot sauce. It hides A LOT of sins, where food is concerned. I found tiny bottles of hot sauce when we took our children to Disney World in 2004. Ironically, at the WDW restaurant that we were eating, they had tiny, tiny (single serving) bottles of hot sauce. My then-husband was openly flirting with our young and clearly uncomfortable waitress. When I expressed my adoration of the tiny hot sauce bottles, she brought me eight more as we were leaving. I thanked her profusely and she squeezed my arm, too, in solidarity, because she knew what a horrible person I was with — at least I believe that was the reason for her squeeze. Maybe she thought I’d throw hot sauce in his eyes, not really sure…
Anyway, I kept those bottles and acquired more on hot sauce websites as they are “sample” sized. I liked having those in my purse because you never knew when it might be needed…for food, that is…there can always be a food emergency, whether dining out at a restaurant or at a friend’s house (whom you don’t want to hurt their feelings and add it to whatever you’re eating when they’re not looking). I’ve always done that…didn’t learn until a few days ago, when I thought about writing this blog post, that in 2016 the New York Times did a story on Beyonce carrying hot sauce in her purse…I never knew that, so I wasn’t copying her! Promise!
Meanwhile, my then-husband, despite being a true Southerner, did not like that little odd practice of mine. He told me that it was trashy and unseemly. He told me that even real Southern women don’t do that. He told me how unsexy and how unnecessary that was. I felt like he was attacking my entire character, as he always did. Nothing was sacred.
Fast forward to my first physical date with my Boyfriend. We had been talking online for over a month and a half when we physically met and had our first date at an Alice Cooper concert. He paid extra for a dinner at the venue beforehand, which I was wowed by. When he picked me up in his truck, he had flowers for me, homemade snickerdoodle cookies, and a Wonder Woman action figure. I simply could NOT believe that a man would pay attention to details like that with me and not cut me down about my likes/dislikes. He would let me pay for nothing…until, we discovered that the food package that he purchased did not include drinks. I offered to pay, but then got up not waiting for him to decline.
“What’s your drink of choice?” I asked as I walked away toward the bar.
“Coors Light?” he answered back. “Look, I can get that…”
I shook my head and sidled up to the bar. I got him a Coors LIght in a large can and myself a Diet Coke.
I came back with our drinks and sat down to continue eating. He just stared at me.
“Well,” he started. “You’re different.” I looked at him quizzically and he continued, “Most women would insist that I pay for the drinks. I don’t mind, you know.”
“I know. You’ve already showed me a good time. I don’t mind contributing. I’m not expecting you to do everything.”
Things really took a turn when I pulled my tiny hot sauce out of my bag. The pasta side was bland. He stopped eating and stared at me again. I think he even dropped his fork.
“What on earth–” he said, looking from me to the bottle and back again.
“Um, yeah, it’s a thing I do.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Want some?”
He politely declined with a smile on his face. “You’re a firecracker, aren’t you?” he asked.
I shrugged again. “I guess?”
He leaned forward, because we were sitting next to each other. “I’ve dated quite a few women, but you are definitely unconventional. I’m glad we’re doing this.”
“Already having regrets?” I said, looking him in the eye and still chewing. He looked VERY taken aback at my comment
“No, not at all.”
I have to admit that I flushed with happiness. I already really liked him at this point, but wasn’t about to be disappointed again early on if he couldn’t handle my realness. I am proud to say that he is my best friend and truest love. We have our moments of intensity and disagreement, but we are still here.
Now, seven years later, we have conversations like this:
I was watching a “funny” video on social media where the man in the relationship farts in front of his girlfriend/wife and she answers back with an even louder, more vile episode of gas. I gasp, shocked.
“What?” he asks.
“Omigosh,” I say after I remove my hand from my mouth. “I would never…”
He looks at me puzzled. “You would never what?”
I shockingly show him the video, while shaking my head. He laughs. “You fart,” he says, simply, sipping his coffee.
I narrow my eyes at him. “No, I don’t…I mean, yes, I do…just not in front of you.”
He laughs again. “Well…”
“What does that mean?”
“You do sometimes,” he admits.
“What do you mean? I do not!”
He takes a drink out of his cup, then whispers, “…in your sleep.”
I audibly gasp, putting my hand up to my mouth. I do my utmost to make sure I don’t do that in front of him. Good heavens!
“But,” he says with a wink. “They’re cute toots.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable,” I tell him. “Now I’m going to have to move out and not make eye contact with you any more.” Of course, I’m kidding. We kid with each other constantly. That’s what makes our relationship work. I could never have done that with my abuser. Ever. At all. In any way, shape or form.
Fellas, if you can’t handle realness, especially with real women who carry hot sauce in their purses, who have thicker thighs than fashion models, who are sassy and have their own opinions…then move along, there’s nothing more to see here.
